


Go To the Cemetery and Disappoint the Graveyard

by GriffinGreen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-adjacent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy Racism, Memory Loss, Resurrection, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 18:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GriffinGreen/pseuds/GriffinGreen
Summary: When Mollymauk Tealeaf emerged from his grave the first time, empty and wordless, he was found by the Carnival. A makeshift family took him in, cared for him, taught him to be himself, helped him to grow into the vibrant, caring tiefling we all know and love....But what if they hadn't been there? What if there had been no one to help him? What if he had been left, alone and afraid, to fend for himself in a world where he couldn't even communicate?What if it happened when he emerged for the second time?





	Go To the Cemetery and Disappoint the Graveyard

**Author's Note:**

> This is rough, and for that I apologize. I hope to come back and edit it soon, but it was hastily written and hastily posted before I lost my nerve. 
> 
> Themes I want to explore (in addition to simply reveling in the interpersonal dynamics of the Nein and shamelessly indulging myself by bringing back Molly) all deal with how the self is shaped by outside influences and our own memories, as opposed to some innate quality of who we are.
> 
> The timeframe is intentionally vague; it is after Molly's death and after Caduceus joins the group, but before the recent backstory bombshells. The city is one I invented for this story; it is well within the Empire and very human-centric, with varying degrees of racism directed towards non-humans (especially those with unsavory stereotypes like half-orcs or tieflings, or less-common races like firbolgs.) The Nein are currently there for Reasons.
> 
> The title comes from a quote from Dr. Myles Munroe: "Don't die old, die empty. That's the goal of life. Go to the cemetery and disappoint the graveyard." I don't share Dr. Munroe's faith, but I believe Molly would have liked his philosophy of living life to the fullest.
> 
> All this serious stuff aside, I had fun writing this first chapter and expect to have fun writing the rest too!

They arrived in Traisbach late, tired and dirty and with Beau and Fjord still sporting unhealed wounds from an unfortunate encounter on the road. They took rooms at the first inn they found, paid without haggling, and collapsed, exhausted, into bed.

They didn’t, therefore, notice the stares until the next morning.

“You know, we can _hear you_ ,” Beau shouts across the common room, glaring over her breakfast at a table of human men.  Jester elbows her.

“Don’t do that!”

“Oh, I’m absolutely gonna do that,” Beau retorts, though at least she lowers her voice. “They don’t get to call you that.”

“No, it – it’s okay,” Jester lies. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s fucking _not_ okay –“ Beau starts, but Fjord cuts in.

“No, no, she’s right.  Beau, she’s right, stop it. We’re gonna be here a coupla days at least, an’ we gotta stock up on supplies.” He holds up a calming hand. “We ain’t gonna do ourselves any favors if we start pickin’ fights with the locals. Let’s all just… try to keep our heads down, okay?”

“But I appreciate it, Beau,” Jester adds, all sunny smiles again. “Some people don’t like tieflings, but that’s not their fault because they don’t know any better.” In truth, she wasn’t the only member of their group receiving hostile looks from the mostly-human crowd around them; Fjord and Caduceus both receive their fair share of stares and mutter, though it’s anyone’s guess how much of it the latter, at least, notices. Nott, disguised as a halfling, seems very aware of the atmosphere, frequently lifting her head to glance nervously around the room. “Aaaaaanyway, the Traveler says that people who are mean to tieflings all have really really bad sex lives so it all works out.”

Beau grumbles, stabbing a fork at an inoffensive lump of scrambled eggs, “Okay, but if I hear the word ‘devil’ again I make no promises,” she warns in a mutter.

“Right,” Fjord says with a sigh, and stands.  “On that note. We all got stuff we need to buy, right? Let’s go hit the town and get it done. Beau, if you gotta get us kicked out, you can do it _after_ we get what we need.”

*

Caleb, as usual, has eyes for one thing and one thing only: books. Well, books and paper. Well, books and paper and ink and spell components. He finds the things he wants (not enough, there’s never enough, but enough for now) relatively quickly and easily, but hesitates before heading back to the inn. “You are sure?” he asks with a frown, looking down at the “halfling” before him.

“Yes, Caleb, I’m sure.” Amusement bubbles in a voice scratchier than any halfling’s voice has ever been. “I can entertain myself for a few hours. I won’t even steal. Much.”

His frown deepens. “ _Ja_ , okay. Just. Be careful, _ja_? I do not like the way the people here watch us. Make sure you renew your disguise before it wears off.”

“I will, I will.” She doesn’t – quite – roll her eyes. “Go. Have fun with your books.”

He worries about her as he heads back, but the lure of new books and the ability to transcribe new spells is a welcome distraction. Once back he takes over a table in the corner, orders a beer – more for the look of the thing, sipping it slowly so as not to impair himself – and loses himself happily in his new purchases, Frumpkin curled warmly into his lap.

Late morning turns into early afternoon. Lunch brings people in; around him, the common room fills up, the sound of conversation rising and washing easily over him, the words barely registering in his ears even when the subject turns to gossip about himself and his friends.

 

_-Buncha weirdos-_

 

_-devil-_

 

_-half-breed-_

 

_-one of ‘em over there-_

_-shh!-_

 

_-…those horns?-_

 

_-prob’ly a buncha criminals-_

 

_-okay but why PINK though?-_

 

_-you can’t trust any of ‘em-_

 

_-freak-_

 

_-all devils are violent though-_

 

_-or thieves-_

 

_-like that one in the alley-_

 

_-bad as that one in the-_

 

_-back in the alley-_

 

_-bad enough there’s that purple one in the alley…-_

 

Caleb blinks, staring at the page in front of him as if coming up out of a deep sleep. Something danced at the edge of his awareness, something that startled him out of his concentration. He frowns for a long moment, replaying the last few minutes of overheard conversation in his mind, then drains his glass in one long gulp and steps up to the counter.

The bartender takes his time, making him wait before finally stopping in front of him. “So,” he says in a carefully neutral tone, taking in Caleb’s shabby appearance. “You folks stayin’ in town long?”

“…Ah, maybe.” He doesn’t elaborate. “May I have another, _bitte_?”

The bartender watches him as he fills another glass. “That’s another five copper, then.”

“ _Ja,_ okay, _danke_.” Carefully, deliberately, Caleb lays a silver piece on the counter. “Ah… I wonder if you… might answer a question for me as well?” The innkeeper gives him a hard stare; another silver coin joins the first. “Someone mentioned a, ah, a ‘purple devil’ in an alley?”

The man in front of him sighs, not taking the coins. “Look. I’ll level with you. You travel with some… interestin’ company. And I am sure,” he drawls slowly, “it has not escaped your attention that some of ‘em ain’t exactly welcome here.” He shakes his head. “’Specially the blue one. The tieflings we got, we don’t want, and nobody here’s too happy about havin’ more.” Leaning back, the big man folds his arms. “Now, your money spends as good as anyone else’s, so I don’t got a problem with you, but I suggest you hang onto that money, finish what you’re doing here as soon as possible, and move on. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble.”

Caleb only pauses for a moment, processing this. “ _Ja_ , okay,” he says after a moment, “but I would still like to know. If there is a purple tiefling in an alley and you don’t like him being here, perhaps… perhaps I can persuade him to, uh. Move along.” With an effort, Caleb raises blue eyes to look directly at the bartender. Slowly, he draws out a single gold piece and lays it next to the two silver.

After a moment the bartender’s shoulders deflate and he swipes the coins off the counter with a swift gesture. “Okay,” he says with a sigh. “But don’t blame me if you get hurt. A while back – maybe half a year? – this purple tiefling pulls up into town. Absolutely filthy. Doesn’t talk to anyone. Some of the boys started to give him a hard time – don’t look at me like that, I’m just tellin’ you what happened – and suddenly he just snaps. Pulls out swords, starts cuttin’ people up. Almost killed Jacky over there,” he adds in a low voice, nodding towards a burly man with a sour expression.

“Swords?” Caleb interjects, his expression intense. “More than one?”

“Two, yeah.” The bartender nods in confirmation. “Fancy curvy ones, Jacky said. Anyway he’s been hidin’ out in the alleyways ever since. Sometimes he begs; there’s a few folks in town who feel sorry for him an’ leave out food sometimes, but not as many anymore. He never says thank you. Usually he steals.” He shrugs. “I’ve had to chase him out of my back room more’n once. Usually you just gotta raise your voice and he’ll run; I’ve never seen those swords of his, but a couple other folks say he’s pulled ‘em out since that first day.”

Caleb nods jerkily, trying hard to keep his voice controlled. “And – this tiefling, what does he look like, other than purple? Does he have, uh.” He gestures above his head. “Jewelry? A colorful coat, maybe?”

“No-o-o,” the bartender says slowly, and Caleb’s heart drops. “Not that I saw. Although… now that you mention it, there’s holes all over those horns of his.” His heart begins racing again. “Might be someone took it off him. An’ that coat’s seen better days; I couldn’t tell you what color it was originally. Oh, but – he’s got tattoos. Lots of ‘em. Like a snake, and a – a peacock, and – hey, where are you going? Hey? Hey!”

His shout is lost in the slam of the door as, for the first time in his life, Caleb Widogast leaves behind a table full of books and papers without a second thought.

**Author's Note:**

> We will see the man himself in the next chapter, I promise!


End file.
